So Shall You Reap
by Indoctrinated
Summary: You name a Council law, the Veronites will break it...and the Veronite Guild Emperor decided that it’s high time the Duke of Belsward was dealt with. TenRose
1. Preparations

A/N: Sorry for not updating my other WIPs. Darkfall is drawing a complete blank right now, Waiting is having issues with the last page or so, and Up on the Rooftop is just being downright stubborn. I do have a sequel planned for one of my other stories, A Stranger's Turn of Events that also has yet to be written. AP tests and finals are gonna hit in about a week though, so there won't be an update for this for –at the very least – two weeks, unless inspiration decides to strike at a very inopportune time. With my luck it'll be right in the middle of my AP Art History exam. So, anyway, don't be expecting a lot from me until about late June-ish, hopefully by then my muse will return to wrap up some of these loose ends.

A/N2: Also, I'm looking for someone willing to beta. I need someone who can nitpick me about grammar and sentence structure because I'm starting to get really tired of checking my stuff eighteen times before I post and then still find mistakes after I read it over on FanFiction. So, if anyone is willing to put up with my random inspirations and odd posting schedules, just review with your e-mail address or send me a message. Thanks!

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The Doctor inspected himself one final time in the mirror, adjusting his perfectly tailored tuxedo just so. He tugged on the cuffs, creased the collar, tweaked the way the jacket sat on his narrow shoulders, straightened the cufflinks, cinched his belt again although it was already set to the correct size, and tugged miserably at the failed attempt to knot his bowtie correctly. He pulled at the end and tried again, his usually nimble fingers suddenly becoming clumsy and useless. With an angry grunt and a dissatisfied snort, he turned away from the mirror. It'd get the job done. After all, how often do you intently stare at a man's bowtie? Especially if the man wearing said bowtie was as dashingly handsome as himself.

The Doctor smirked; this incarnation sure thought highly of himself. He dismissed the thought after another moment, feeling through all of his many pockets to make sure he had all that was required for tonight's incursion. He murmured a mental checklist to himself, "Sonic screwdriver – always handy. Check. Psychic paper – good in tight spots. Check. Forged IDs – have to be presented at the door. Check. Borrowed invitations – from the Duke and Duchess of Kerrington, rather nice of them, I'll have to send a note. Check. TARDIS key. Check. Wallet. Check. Permits. Check. Tux, shiny yet uncomfortable shoes, and coat. Check, check, annnnddd check. Beautiful woman on my right arm…?" He looked at his right elbow, frowning. He turned and poked his head out in the hall, calling down to Rose's room, "Where's the beautiful woman that's s'posed to be on my right arm?!"

After a series of rather undignified sounds issuing from down the hall, the least of which sounding like a nine car pile-up on the interstate, Rose hopped out from behind the door, still pulling on one high heel with one hand while trying to zip up the back of her dress with the other. "Coming! Sorry, sorry, sorry…" she replied furiously, struggling with the zipper and the shoe. He chuckled and jogged the twenty or so feet down the corridor, steadying her just as she was about to tip over. He grinned and told her to stand up straight while he pulled the zipper up, then asked for the shoe. Rose laughed as he fiddled with the suddenly complicated combination of straps and buckles. Finally, dress zipped and shoe in place, the Doctor stood up.

Rose's first reaction was a sour frown as she caught sight of his multiple failed attempts to knot his bowtie. She pointed to it accusingly, nose wrinkling distastefully at the sight of it. "Right, so we're s'posed to be some well-to-do blue-blood Duke and Duchess, but your bowtie looks like you tried to knot it in the dark? Don't think so. C'mere, let me do it up right. I need a mirror."

He sighed and tugged it loose, leaving it dangled around his neck as he dutifully followed her back into the room. She positioned him in front of a full-length mirror, and then snagged a high backed-chair from its place against the wall. He couldn't contain his laughter when she stood up on it behind him, her arms reaching around his narrow shoulders to finger both ends of the loose tie. She scolded him firmly, "I wouldn't _need_ a chair to do this if you'd had the good sense to regenerate into someone shorter."

This time he grinned in remembering how she'd first reacted to his regeneration, and now how she joked so casually about it. He replied, "Well, I'll be sure to keep that in mind next time I rearrange every single cell in my entire body. So, what's the list of things to regenerate into? Short, ginger…"

"And huge feet!" she added sarcastically with an overly exaggerated eye roll, her fingers deftly weaving the tie into an intricate knot.

Completely oblivious, he said, "Huge feet? Why?"

"Well, you know what they say about men with big feet…"

"No, what do they sa-" After a moment he caught on. "You dirty little…"

"Ah, ah ,ah," she tutted, her smile growing into a smirk. He scowled at her through the mirror. With a practiced ease, she steered the conversation in a different direction. "So, this party, what's it all about?"

He laughed, watching her through the mirror's reflection. "Well, first of all it's a gala, not just some plain old party. And what it's all about is the Duke of Kent is holding a ball for his daughter, and not just any ball, it's her 21st birthday today. That means, under a new law established in 2042, she's now eligible for marriage."

Rose snickered. "Sounds a bit like Cinderella to me, 'cept it's the daughter of a Duke and not a Prince."

"Oh, you poke fun at it now," he replied, "just wait 'til you see the size of the ball he's thrown for her. Nearly every Duke, Duchess, Count, Countess, Prince, Princess, Earl, Marquess, Viscount, Baron, Ambassador, King, and Queen from every corner of the British Empire have been invited, and those that weren't are coming anyway. Any man that the Duke has deemed acceptable to marry his precious Meredith – not a long list, as you'd expect - will have his chance to woo her into her and her old man's good graces."

Rose pulled on the ends of the bowtie, finally forming the final shape. She smoothed the creases and fanned the edges out as she asked, "And we're going to this…_gala_, why?"

He smiled wryly. "I was just about to explain. As it so happens, the Earl of Farringsworth isn't actually human. He's a Veronite, the crafty little backstabber. Veronites are shapeshifters, and this one fancies what Tom Cruise looked like from your century. Could be the man's twin brother. This Earl has managed to charm his way into the court's good graces despite the fact that there was no Earl of Farringsworth until about ten years ago, and the man he 'inherited' the title from was thoroughly despised. He actually blackmailed the Earl into naming him as his successor. 'Course looking like Tom Cruise doesn't hurt. No one in the British Royal court knows he's a Veronite and not a human. A few days ago I picked up a tip from an old friend on the psychic paper that a Veronite had been sent in from the Guild to 'eliminate' – as it was so delicately put – our old friend the Duke of Belsward. Seems the man has been poking his nose into foreign matters where it doesn't belong, and the Veronite Guild Emperor decided that it's high time that nose was dealt with."

He stretched his neck so Rose could access his collar easier. "Thing is, what the Duke was getting into seemed to be some pretty heavy stuff. Illegal things of all sorts: smuggling, slave trading, forgery, money laundering. You name a Council law, the Veronites will break it. The Veronites are notorious for their illegal dealings, but the galaxial police have yet to catch them red-handed. They're kind of the universal mafia for the 22nd century. Think Godfather plus Star Trek plus Tatooine and you'll get kind of a hazy idea of the Veronites. Now the Duke of Belsward has been considering turning his information into the police. The only thing that kept him from doing it right away was fear; you can't hide from the Guild. They're _everywhere_." He looked seriously at her. "The Veronites are messing with time. The Duke of Belsward isn't supposed to die for another hundred years. History says that he helped prevent several wars that would have otherwise destroyed Earth, he can't die tonight because – if he does - the future of the human race will be completely re-written from here on out."

"Veronites, eh?" Rose gave his bowtie one last tweak to the right and then moved back a bit, eyeing her handiwork in the mirror. "Not bad…" She smoothed down his shirt collar and tugged his dinner jacket free of wrinkles. She grinned back at him. "There, you clean up rather well."

He met her eyes in the mirror, his gaze sober. "You're beautiful tonight. I didn't tell you earlier, but you're beautiful."

She managed to keep her face from flushing a deep scarlet, only the slightest shade of pink coloring her cheeks. Rose again redirected the course of the conversation, but the Doctor's cocky half-smirk told her that he was fully aware of her reaction. "So we've got a Veronite assassin waiting to kill the Duke of Belsward. I take it that we're supposed to stop him." Her smile curled into a frown. "But why the gala? Wouldn't all those people make it harder to get away with killing the Duke?"

The Doctor turned to face her, tapping his temple knowingly. "Exactly. I'm sure it has something to do with the Duke's personal guard being spread father apart and not always in sight of him. So many guests, hard to keep track of one person. Plus, the normal security force for the mansion needs as many pairs of eyes as possible; I wouldn't be surprised if they'd been recruited for perimeter duty. Can't have uninvited guests crashing the party now can we?" He offered a hand and helped her down from the chair.

Rose snapped her fingers at him. "That's another thing I wanted to ask you. How exactly are we planning to get into this ball? Invitations only, yeah?"

"That's why I have these," he replied, producing a thick envelope made of yellowed parchment from an inner coat pocket, the elegant script on the front spelling out the names and titles of the Duke and Duchess they were impersonating tonight. "The psychic paper won't work on some of the guards. They've been trained to look for things like it." He retrieved a pair of identification cards from the same pocket and handed one to her. "That's why I have these too."

Rose read the names off the envelope aloud. "Sir Robert Bruce Dann, Duke of Kerrington. Lady Elizabeth Marion Jerisford-Dann, Duchess of Kerrington." She glanced up at him. "Who're they?"

"Just some old friends I persuaded to let me attend this boring gala for." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

She glanced back plainly. "Meaning you nicked them," she said.

The Doctor scoffed, offended. "Meaning I merely borrowed them without permission and fully intend to return to the past and erase all memory of my visit. Blimey, sometimes I'd think you've no faith in me whatsoever."

"The way you have a tendency to get us caught in sticky situations? I should think so!" she snorted. "What about the way we look? Aren't people bound to notice we aren't the Duke and Duchess of Kerrington? They are royalty after all."

"You know, there _is_ a reason why I picked this Duke and Duchess. We have a strange resemblance to them." He pulled a picture from his trouser pocket. The couple in the picture could have easily passed for Rose and the Doctor. The man, Sir Robert as she remembered, wore a full military dress uniform, his darkish brown hair slicked straight back from his forehead. Two intense brown eyes were divided by a regally thin nose. Rose glanced up at the Doctor. Like the Duke, he had slicked his hair straight back and trimmed his sideburns to better match the picture.

The woman in the picture, Lady Elizabeth, could have easily passed for Rose's sister, perhaps even a twin. They shared the same shade of ash blond hair, and two similarly almond-shaped eyes. Both the Duke and the Duchess were of an indeterminate age; they could have passed from someone in their early twenties to a very young looking couple in their later thirties. The Doctor and Rose had the same trait, while the Doctor perpetually looked young, Rose – while only 20 – could pass for someone several years younger, or several years older depending on the situation. The only noticeable difference was the color of Elizabeth's eyes; they were a stunning shade of violet.

"Her eyes are purple."

"Yes, they are. Very observant of you," he grinned.

She pointed to her own eyes, exasperated. "Mine are brown, you git. People will notice that for sure."

He patted the air reassuringly. "Don't worry, I've got it all worked out. I put together a pair of contacts last night. No one'll know the difference."

"Well," she said, handing back the snapshot, "I see why you picked them now. They could easily be us."

"I know. Brilliant, eh?" He shrugged. "And if anyone notices something different then we'll just say facial reconstruction. It's the 'in' thing during this era." They were silent for a few moments before he clapped his hands together, and said, "Well, time to go. Don't want to be late, now do we?"

She beamed at him, the smile on her lips lighting up her entire face. "Let's go!"

With a dashing grin, the Doctor offered his right elbow. Rose threaded her arm through his, gathering her purse and coat with a free hand as they headed out of the room and down the corridor to the console room. They paused in front of the main control console for only a moment as the Doctor set the usual safety systems and hologram projections should anyone but the Doctor or Rose set foot inside the TARDIS. A few minutes later found them standing outside in the frigid winter air, warm breath crystallizing into clouds before their faces.

"So what's the date then?" Rose asked as the Doctor fished his TARDIS key from an inner pocket.

The locked clicked closed and he answered, "It's the 27th of January, 2179." He grabbed her hand and pulled her towards the mouth of the alleyway he had landed the TARDIS in, still rambling on. "This was a great decade. They resurrected the Beatles, you know, huge British pop revival movement. And of course you can't redo the British Invasion without John, Paul, George and Ringo. It was like America in the 1960s all over again."

Rose grinned. "Paul was always my favorite."

He snorted in reply. " 'Course he was. You're a girl. All the girls loved Paul. He was the pretty one."

"All right, fair enough. Who was your favorite?"

"Ah, c'mon! This should be obvious," he scoffed, nudging her in the shoulder. She looked back at him blankly. "Seriously? You know I always like the drummer the best. Ringo!"

She just wrinkled her nose at him, scrunching her face up in an offhanded reply. He wrinkled his nose right back at her, and they laughed. By now they had nearly reached the end of the alley. The Doctor swung a sharp left out onto a quiet street of a suburban neighborhood. The air was heavy with a blanket of silence, and the houses they passed were silent and dark more often than not. Rose stole a glance at the time on her cell phone.

She leaned over, speaking in a hushed whisper, "It's only 9 o'clock. Why is everything so quiet?"

He leaned in closer, his eyes busily scanning the neighborhood. "Few years back there was simultaneous massive terrorist attack all throughout the UK. The cell managed to detonate explosive all along the Underground – a subway system that was built under all of the UK in 2102. Took out the entire country's transportation system. The attack left the UK paralyzed for days until a makeshift system of trolleys could be rigged up. Many of the main streets and even some buildings collapsed into the weakened tunnels." He met her eyes soberly. "Tens of thousands died in both the explosion and the aftermath."

Rose's brow furrowed, her hand tightening in his. "Aftermath?"

"Some people died of their wounds, unable to reach hospitals without the use of the Underground ambulances. Others starved to death because they were too far away from the food distributor and no deliveries could be made because the tunnels had collapsed or the trains were damaged. Runways were compromised because of the unstable tunnels beneath. Nothing came in, nothing went out. Nothing moved in the UK for two weeks." He sighed. "One of the worst subway disasters in Earth's history."

The Doctor jerked his head to indicate a silent home on the corner. "The curfew was introduced only a week after the country was back on its feet, mostly to keep a lid on people attempting to flee the country. Easier to escape at night, and less guards were on patrol at night because they spent their days hunting down and arresting members of the terrorist cell. After a while, once most of the offenders had been captured, interrogated, and executed, the government decided to keep the curfew in place. For public safety, of course."

Rose snorted disdainfully.

"Don't be so quick to judge," he admonished gently. "The curfew was exactly what was needed for the first few months. I admit it should have been abolished after it was no longer useful, but governments always look for the easiest way to control the people. Humans will always be human." He smiled fondly at her. "Not like you can escape it."

She snorted again, but only said, "Won't someone catch us then? We're the only ones out walking."

"I came prepared," he replied, only a hint of smugness touching his voice. He reached into yet another pocket and pressed a slim silver card into her palm. Rose flipped it over, revealing a familiar British flag and – what she assumed to be - the crest of the present ruling family. "Curfew wavers," he explained. "Just flash this real quick in the face of any guard or police officer and you'll get a kindly tip of the hat and a polite, 'Sorry to have bothered you, Sir.'" He beamed proudly.

Something tugged at Rose though. "You're unusually prepared for this. Normally it's just the psychic paper, the sonic screwdriver and a fly-by-the-seat-of-our-pants adventure." She pointed a finger at him. "This time you've got invitations, passes, forged IDs, curfew wavers…What's so different about tonight?"

He hesitated before answering. "Tonight, nothing can afford to go wrong. We've got one shot at stopping this guy, and just a few seconds wasted attempting to talk our way out of getting arrested could cost the Duke his life. We can't let that happen, Rose. Tonight, everything has to be smooth, perfect." He shrugged. "Even the smallest detail has to be exact." He ground to a halt once he realized something, digging frantically in yet another pocket as a flash of panic stretched over his face. He released her hand, patting himself across his ribs and down his hips. After a moment, he sighed – face relaxing with the exhale of breath - and withdrew a small black box. He shook it at her. "Even the smallest detail counts." The Doctor flipped the lid open, revealing two platinum wedding bands that glimmered faintly in the soft moonlight. He placed one over his left ring finger, and then took her left hand in his, gently slipping the other band over her knuckle.

"Tonight we're married," she added softly, openly admiring the look of a ring on her left hand.

He touched her face. "Tonight, I'm your husband, and tonight, you're my wife." He smiled fondly again. "We'll just have to act the part." This time, when he took her hand, he placed it not in his own, but on his right elbow. They continued to walk down the deserted street, no sounds reaching their ears beyond the swish of Rose's gown, the scuff of the Doctor's shoes against the pavement, and the now recognizable distant rumble of the Underground. A night patrol of two officers stopped them once, but a casual flash of the curfew wavers sent the patrol swiftly on their way. A card holding citizen these days was only someone of great importance – a high ranking official in Parliament or, more often, a noble with a title of some sort.

After several more minutes of silent walking, they stopped on a street corner. The Doctor told Rose to insert her specially made contacts while he double-checked his pockets. Once everything was in order, haughty glares plastered on their faces and brilliant smiles at the ready, the Doctor and Rose all but glided down the street. They stopped in front of a regal mansion, the sea of breathtakingly beautiful formal gowns and black-suited noblemen milling around in the driveway marking it as the correct house. The Doctor and Rose presented their invitations, IDs, and curfew wavers at the gate, easily passing the inspection under a pair of intensely scrutinizing private guards.

Both of them took a fortifying breath before smoothly inserting themselves into the milling crowd waiting for their host to open the door and invite them inside, all according to tradition. The men hoping to woo her would enter first, then followed by each guest according to importance of title. As the Doctor was mentally running through the list of invited guests and trying to figure out where he and Rose were placed on the list, a thundering voice bellowed, "Robert Dann! Where've you been? It's been _years_!"

Just as he was swinging around to find his caller, the Doctor felt Rose being separated from him by a gaggle of high-pitched chattery voices that squeaked, "Oh, Lizzie! It's been _so_ long since we last saw you!...African mud makeup and mud mask, I swear by the stuff!...Where've you and Robbie been all this time?! Not been _too_ busy have you, eh?...Have you seen the latest fad from Venice? It's _all_ the rage!..." He caught Rose's eye just as she was being pulled away by the swarm of woman, her eyes pleading, 'Help!' He reached out to snag her hand, but a strong hand clamped down on his forearm and pulled him into a bruising bear hug, crushing the air from his lungs. He managed to gasp out, "'Lo there!" before his vision began to swim in front of his eyes, spots of black inking out his vision drop by drop.

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TBC... 


	2. Transition

A/N: And so the plot thickens…

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The Doctor felt solid ground beneath his feet just as he stood on the edge of darkness. Two hands held him by the shoulders as his vision started to return, slowly at first. The ink black splotches soon faded, replaced by the broad, grinning face of a man who the Doctor recognized as the Baron of Huntsford. The man spoke, patting the Doctor heartily on the back.

"Sorry, Robert," the Baron said, his cultured voice clipping the words neatly. "My son often forgets his strength. My apologies."

The Doctor, despite the fact he already brushed the ceiling of six feet tall, was forced to look up to meet the Baron's eyes. He wheezed and coughed before finding his voice, attempting to re-inflate partially crushed lungs. "Not to worry," he rasped after a few moments. He glanced over at the Baron's son, a young lad that looked not a day over twenty but already stood several inches taller than his father, with shoulders so broad it looked like he'd have a challenge on his hands merely trying to walk through an average sized doorway. The boy grinned at him, mirroring his father's smile. The Doctor returned the gesture with a careful measure of hesitance – how long exactly had the Danns been absent? Already he'd stumbled across something he was unprepared for, and the rest of the night was still ahead of them. What _had_ the Danns been up to lately?

"So," the Baron began, the raw curiosity in his voice giving away the question before he even asked it, "where did you and the Lady Dann run off to?"

He coughed once more, and chose the safest answer possible, desperately hoping Rose would pick the same one. "Oh, you know…we've been around. Out. And about."

The Baron nodded. "Traveling. It's a good thing for a man your age. See the world, come back a wiser and more experienced person."

"Tell me about it," the Doctor muttered under his breath, glancing furtively around for any sign of Rose. They shouldn't be separated for so long, especially since their stories could easily conflict with one another.

"Pardon?" the Baron replied.

"Oh! Er…I was just agreeing with you."

The Baron's son spoke up, the Doctor now finding the voice that first drew his attention. "So, where exactly did you go?"

Sensing another opportunity for the stories to conflict, the Doctor answered, "Oh, you know, everywhere. A bit here, a bit there. Wherever we felt like really. Just sort of…rambled."

"Sarah and I went to Rome this past summer," the Baron said. "A beautiful city. The sixteenth century really is the best time to visit!"

The Doctor shook his head, sure he had misheard. "Pardon me, sixteenth century?"

The man's brow furrowed. "Well, what century do you think is the best, Robert? I can't think of a better time to visit Rome. We got to meet the master himself, Michelangelo." The Baron smiled fondly. "He painted our faces into a pair of demons in the _Last Judgment_ after we accidentally walked in on him while he was working in the Sistine chapel. We complimented him but all he did was drive us out and curse us to hell." He chuckled fondly, a wistful smile pulling at his lips.

For a moment, time stood still for the Doctor. The only conclusion he could come to was that the Baron and his wife had somehow traveled back in time far enough to see Michelangelo, and not just that, they met him. In person. Face-to-face they had talked to one of the greatest of all the Renaissance masters. And he talked about it like it was a commonplace thing. The Doctor felt his face drain of blood, blanching at the answer that stared him in the face. Humans had discovered time travel four centuries before they should have. Ordinary people were messing with time. Something was wrong here.

According to Earth's history, which the Doctor knew as well as he knew the back of his own hand, in 2582, Orphius Selman discovered the Vortex for the first time in human history. It was his son, Isius Selman, who invented a module able to travel inside the Vortex, thus creating the first human time machine. And yet here stood the Baron of Huntsford, talking about a trip to the Renaissance era of Rome just as casually as if he were talking about a flight across the pond to New York four hundred years before it should have been possible.

Realizing he'd taken far to long to answer such a simple question, the Doctor blurted, "Oh, I dunno about sixteenth century Rome. A bit messy for me. I'd go to first century Rome. The golden age of the Empire. Meet Augustus, go for a chariot race and all that."

Both men nodded knowingly. His son commented, "Ancient Rome is one of the more popular eras to visit, awful hard to get a reservation for that time period." The three men beamed as one, but Rose's breathless exclamation of "Robert!" drew the Doctor away from the group. He spun, eyes scanning the crowd until he located the striking blond in an elegant black evening gown. In a second she was pressed against him, pushed up onto her toes and planting a kiss on his cheek. She smiled up at him, and said in a finely cultured voice no doubt adapted and polished in only the past few minutes, "Finally. Took me the longest time to find you again, dear. The ladies could talk the ears right off me given half the chance."

He returned the smile, his eyes flashing as he replied, "I'm sure they could. I was just telling our old friend the Baron about our travels for the past year."

Her eyes flashed back, picking up the cue. She laughed disarmingly. "Oh you did? Interestingly enough, the ladies wanted to know about what'd we'd been up to as well. I told them we went to a little bit of everywhere!" Now they all laughed, though the Doctor and Rose's chuckles more than just a little forced.

Before the threads of conversation could be picked up again, a single trumpet blast echoed across the front lawn, voices quieting to a humming whisper in response. Conversation flitted back and forth between the now unmoving guests, snatches of banter and speech changing hands and intertwining in with one another until a swift blanket of gossip, deception, and miscommunication was woven and cinched around the group like hangman's noose. And it was all centered around two subjects: the Earl of Farringsworth, and the odd return of the Duke and Duchess of Kerrington.

As one of the black suited guards mounted the steps to the front door, the Doctor and Rose were busy sharing information of their own. Rose, having been captured by the best gossip sifters out of all the guests, had obviously learned far more about both subjects. She whispered hurriedly to him, her eyes never leaving the front door of the mansion, "…So this Earl – the Veronite – is one of Meredith's suitors. Laura, the Count of Fenworth's wife, said that he's most likely to win Meredith's hand. Beatrice says that's he's definitely a looker, and has more charm in one finger than even Prince Charming himself had in his entire body. Only one of them, Veronica, the Southern Territories ambassador's wife is the only one who had anything bad to say. She said he's a little too…oh, how'd she put it? Slimy? Greasy? No. Maybe slippery. Like he's just a little too smooth for his own good. She mentioned that he only became Earl a year ago, and now he's probably the most popular of the Royals – even compared to the King and Queen themselves."

Her voice dropped a notch, and the Doctor shifted closer to make sure he didn't miss a word. "As for us, I picked up some rather useful bits about the Duke and Duchess. Apparently, we've been married for nine years, no kids though, and…we're still madly in love with one another." For the first time since the trumpet blare, Rose's eyes left the door. His eyes found hers and held for just a moment - too short for a stranger to decipher anything from it, but more than long enough for them to figure out what one another was thinking. It was…impossible for them. It couldn't – _shouldn't_ – happen. It shouldn't happen because Rose had admired the way his ring fit over her finger for just a little too long, and because of the way their hands fit so perfectly together. It shouldn't happen because even if she promised him forever, forever wasn't long enough. It shouldn't happen for all the reasons that – in any other circumstance – it should.

Then the moment shattered, and her gaze was drawn back to the door. Rose continued, "Just a little over a year ago, we both disappeared. A note was left on our estate to our friends and family saying that we were both alive and OK, but never said where we went or why. At first they were convinced it was a kidnapping, but the police confirmed our signatures on the note without any of the obvious signs of it being written under duress. Also, no ransom note or call was made, so they simply assumed we decided to take off without any of the usual formalities." She wrinkled her nose. "Awful hard to just drop everything and have a simple vacation when you're a member of the Royal Court. These guys are followed around everywhere they go by mobs of paparazzi."

She shrugged after he didn't add anything immediately. "You learn anything good?"

He shrugged back, eyebrows rising to his hairline as the guard opened the door and they caught the first sight of their host. "Aw…not much. Only that it seems humans have discovered time travel over four hundred years before it _should_ have been possible." He caught a glance of her open-mouthed, shocked-into-silence reply before his attention was fully captured by the host – the Duke of Kent - who began the long held tradition with:

"Where are the men who seek my daughter's hand?

Are they hidden away on some far off land?

Where are the men, tall, fit and smart?

Where are the men, strong of body, mind, and heart?"

A tall, slim man took several long strides across the lawn and away from the crowd. He reached the foot of the stairs, bowed gracefully, and recited the formal reply. "I am here, Duke of Kent, and I have traveled far. I am the Prince of Derkenshire, and I wish to marry your daughter."

The Duke allowed him to enter the mansion. This ritual was repeated six more times, each with a different young nobleman stepping forward and begging entrance. Then, the seventh man to step away from the crowd was none other than the Earl of Farringsworth himself. Rose, though already having been forewarned of his appearance, still gasped when she saw Tom Cruise bowing in front of the Duke of Kent. The Doctor hummed a little two-toned note than sounded suspiciously like, "Told you."

One more young man followed the Earl into the mansion before the Duke raised his hands and announced, "And now, my guests, will you enter my home? You must promise to drink, eat, dance, and most important of all, enjoy yourselves and each other's company! Will you do as I so humbly ask of you?"

A resounding "Yes!" echoed across the front lawn, and guests began streaming into the house, all according to importance of title. The kings and queens entered first, followed by the princes and princesses, and so on. The entrance hall was nothing if not spectacular, every inch of it draped in decadence and every corner layered with luxury. Two spiral staircases curved up either side of the room, converging into one hallway that disappeared into the shadows of the second floor. A crystalline chandelier lit the room with a soft, golden glow. The guests gathered here now, waiting for the lady of the night to make her appearance. And they were not to be disappointed.

Lady Meredith appeared at the head of both staircases, the ice blue of her evening gown contrasting sharply with the hazy golden glow of the entrance hall. With a smile and a small nod, under the resounding applause that rang from every corner of the room, Meredith descended one staircase. Her father took her by the hand, his beaming smile mirroring his daughter's.

Rose leaned over to the Doctor, tucking her hand against his elbow as she saw all the other couples doing, and whispered, "Meredith is his only daughter. She's got four brothers, and she's also the youngest out of all of them. She's the favorite, to say the least."

"To say the least," the Doctor echoed, eyebrows rising to his hairline as he steered them both to a set of double doors that met at the base of the two spiral staircases. The doors were thrown open wide by a pair of servants, and the guests now moved from the hall and into the grand ballroom. The soft strains of a song from a live band touched the ears of the guests as they moved into the domed room, graceful vaults rising higher and higher from the walls until they met in a solid glass dome at the apex of the combined arches. As each couple entered the room, both the Doctor and Rose noticed they were taking up a familiar position; one pair of hands clasped and held at shoulder level, the woman's free hand on her partner's shoulder, and the man's corresponding hand on the woman's waist.

The Doctor silently swore in his head, cursing himself again. Yet another thing he had failed to prepare for. How could he have possibly forgotten the Court Dance? If he and Rose were unable to pull off this intricate dance known by heart to each and every member of the British Royal Court – even the children – their cover would be blown immediately. Rose glanced at him nervously as she saw the apprehension creeping into the lines of his face. If the Doctor was unsure about something, then that meant trouble was lurking just around the next corner. After a moment, they took up the position, becoming yet another mirror image to the many others reflected throughout the room. He plastered on a confident smile to try and reassure Rose, speaking so that his lips barely moved, "Let's see if this body still remembers how to dance."

She smiled back slightly, hesitating.

He spoke softly again, his tone less cheery than before. "What I say next is very important. Just listen to me and we'll sail right through this…here's what I need you to do…"

* * *

TBC… 


	3. Surreptitious Sleuthing

A/N: So we arrive at chapter three. After this, it's definitely going on a break for two weeks, because – guess what – it's summer. And summer is the time for vacations. I'll be gone for two weeks, but there is a definite chance I'll get at least the next chapter finished because I'll have access to a laptop, but no internet. Read on!

* * *

"_What I say next is very important. Just listen to me and we'll sail right through this…here's what I need you to do…"_

* * *

"…Think about my face. Picture it in your head. Now concentrate on it. Blank out all other thoughts." A lively, mellifluous tune wove in between the paired couples from across the room, musicians bent over their instruments and eyes shuttered closed in intense concentration. The Doctor's eyes locked onto hers, his stare so intense she couldn't find the will to look away. "Don't worry about the music. Don't worry about dancing. Don't even worry about the next time you should blink or where your feet will be going in the next few moments. Just…think of me. Concentrate on me like you never have before. Assimilate me…_become_ me."

Rose stared back into his eyes, her glare drilling into his dark pupils until she could think of nothing but him. She felt a sensation not too unlike having an egg cracked over her head as something invisible landed on the crown of her head, slowly oozing its way down her body – though for a certain strangeness of feeling an invisible substance crawling over her skin, Rose felt perfectly at ease. Safe. And, for just an instant, she felt the Doctor everywhere; on her hand, on her nose, on her ankle, on her lips…like every atom of him was wrapped around her. It was like being suffocated, like feeling his warm embrace and his smile and what she could only dream his lips might feel like on hers all at the same time. Then, just as quickly as she had felt it, it vanished.

The tune struck an ending chord, rose to a crescendo again, and then in unison the couples began to glide around the floor. Rose felt her feet moving without conscious thought, and when she attempted to look down, she found herself unable to move a muscle. Her eyes still locked onto his, she tried to ask him what was happening. Infuriatingly, her mouth refused to cooperate with her wishes.

The Doctor must have seen the frustration in her eyes, because he reassured her, "You're fine, Rose. Nothing's wrong with you. Right now we're mirroring the couple just over my left shoulder. Whatever they do, we do. I needed you to concentrate on me so I could establish a mental link." Only then did she realize she'd been listening to him without his lips moving once. His face didn't smile, but she felt it, knew he was smiling as sure as she knew her name was Rose.

Their feet wove through an impossibly quick series of intricate, intertwining steps, legs gliding past one another with only the slightest shift of air between them, bodies twisting, turning in perfect synchronization. The couples floated around the wide, open floor, sweeping past one another with perfectly timed passes and well practiced turns. Rose wondered how it was possible to complete some of the more complicated moves, let alone memorize them. After awhile, her legs began to tire, though she couldn't ease up the relentless pace even if she tried. Again, he sensed her discomfort. He projected his voice directly in her head, "I know, I'm sorry. It's nearly over."

The spirited tune swelled into one last crescendo and then leveled off, ending in one final, sweeping tone. The couples bowed to their partners, and then turned to face the head table where their host stood with a beaming smile on his face. But even his grin couldn't compare to the Doctor and Rose's. The Duke clapped his hands for silence, saying to his guests, "Well done! A fine dance, my friends. Now, if you will take your seats, I'm sure a few young men are eager to please us with some entertainment."

As the couples moved to the tables dotting the perimeter of the dance floor, the Doctor severed the mental connection and spoke directly to Rose. "Another tradition of this kind of ball. The suitors provide entertainment for the guests."

Rose cracked a sly grin. "Not just the guests. I bet Meredith and the Duke get a kick out of it too."

He nodded, adding, "And it gives us an opportunity to snoop around a bit. We might have to split up though." He glanced down at her, uneasy. She appeared to be worried about them separating as well. Should they be split up, the chance that one of them might make a mistake fatal to their plan skyrocketed. They'd only do it if it were necessary, he decided. "As long as the Earl stays in the ballroom, I don't think we'll have a problem. If they do everything to tradition though, we won't have to worry about him being able to sneak out for at least two more hours. He'll be tied up in formalities until then. Hopefully by then we'll have found a way to make sure the Duke is kept safe and somehow stop the Earl from assassinating him. I want to avoid splitting up at all costs. We'll only do it if it becomes absolutely necessary."

The last bit boosted Rose's confidence slightly. The Doctor caught her attention again as they neared a table, pointing out a slightly portly man in his mid-forties with short, brown hair and a neatly trimmed goatee. "There's our man, the Duke of Belsward…I'd avoid direct contact with him if possible. If something goes wrong later on I don't want him suspicious of us. We're his only hope." His tone was one of complete seriousness.

They found an empty table with a good vantage point: the head table with the hosts and the suitors and the Duke of Belsward's table could both be seen easily. The Doctor pulled out Rose's chair for her and then seated himself. Both of them discreetly eyed the crowd as they chose tables and chatted aimlessly, paying special attention to the dashingly handsome Earl at the head table that was not at all what he appeared to be. As their careful eyes watched, the Earl pushed back from his seat, a confident smirk on his lips and moved to stand next to Lady Meredith's chair. He smoothly bent and whispered something in her ear, her face blushing a demure pink as he produced as white rose out of thin air, appearing to snatch it from empty space. He presented it to her, then returned to his seat, glares of indignation drilling into his back from the seven other suitors. This Earl had not waited for the appropriate time to display his talents; he wasn't playing by the rules. They tugged their jackets free of wrinkles and tweaked their bowties angrily. If he wasn't going to play by the rules, then neither were they.

Just as they began to rise out of their chairs, another trumpet blast silenced the room. The men sank back into their chairs, defeated, and the Earl gave another self-satisfied smile. Round one had gone to the Earl of Farringsworth; he was ahead of the game before it even began.

The suitors were not the only ones who noticed. The guests were murmuring among themselves again, some firing displeased glances at the young Earl, though many more held only admiration and approval. This Earl truly was well liked. Unnoticed by almost everyone in the room, the Duke of Belsward took the advantage of the situation and slipped out a corridor on the far side of the room, his steps quick and jerky. Something had startled him. The Doctor looked up, and saw the Earl intently glaring at where the Duke had been only moments ago.

The Doctor whispered urgently to Rose, then leaned back in his chair, arms folded across his chest. With the well-practiced ease of a professional, the Doctor stealthily kept watch on the Earl out of the corner of his eye while appearing to only be observing the room. A few minutes later, just as one of the suitors was signaled to approach the floor, Rose shifted out of her chair and headed the same far corridor the Duke had used, explaining to the guard that she needed to use the ladies room. He let her pass without complaint. She was nobility after all.

The Doctor followed her after a few minutes, careful to avoid direct eye contact with the Earl as he stepped past the head table. No need to draw attention to himself right now, the Veronite would know who he was soon enough. He turned left around a corner and into the corridor after passing the guard. Rose was nowhere in sight, just as he told her to be. If he could have spotted her easily, they might as well give up the next part of the plan here and now. Stealth was the essential part now. He rapped twice on the south wall of the corridor: the all-clear signal. Rose materialized out from behind the shadows in a niche about half-way down the hall. They nodded at one another but said nothing.

Wordlessly, they crept down the corridor and took a left into another darkened hallway. Three doors lay on the left, and a staircase that led to the second floor on the right. No slivers of light peeked from beneath the doors so they bypassed them, slinking up the stairs and onto the second level. A long corridor stretched before them, shallow indentations where the shadows gathered marked darkened doorways. The ornate sconces placed along the walls in between were dark as well, and neither of them could find even a hint of a light switch.

After a moment of silent observation, they slipped down this hall like shadows, Rose in front and the Doctor following closely behind. They checked the doors as they went, though they were locked more often than not. Those left unlocked were nudged open and quickly scanned. They found bedrooms, bathrooms, offices, libraries, and all types of possible uses for a room, but no Duke. He had entered this wing of the mansion and – as far as the Doctor could tell – this wing lacked a second entrance or an exit to the outside. The Duke was here somewhere.

As they neared the last pair of doors, the Doctor's apprehension grew. Was he wrong? Was there another exit he'd missed? The last two doors were unlocked, revealing only a broom cupboard for the staff and a small storage room filled with boxes. The Doctor gently pulled his door closed, glancing over at Rose as she did the same. _Where was he?_ Her eyes asked him the same question he was already asking himself. He scanned the hall for a moment, eyes lingering on the locked doors. He reached for his sonic screwdriver, but decided only to open them if he could find a reason to. He put an ear against one, listening for the vibrations that would give away conversation inside the room, no matter how quiet the whispers were. Nothing.

The Doctor pulled away shrugging. He turned to look at Rose, but she wasn't standing where she had been only a moment ago. Now she was pressed up against the small expanse of blank wall between the final two doorways, eyes clenched shut in concentration. Brow furrowing, the Doctor opened his mouth to ask her what she was doing, but she cut him off with a sharp hand motion, almost as if she had sensed his intent. She then motioned for him to step closer, and he did, mirroring her position against the wall. A gentle vibration tingled his ear, rising and then falling away every few seconds. Machinery would produce a constant vibration, but conversation would swell and then fade away, just as the vibration did. Both of them stepped away from the wall at the same time, eyes searching the wall for any slight depressions or cracks that would mark a hidden doorway. A soft buzz and a flash of blue light from the sonic screwdriver soon revealed the disguised outline of a door and a sunken depression just to the left of it that would spring the door open, though both of then grimaced at even the small sound it made. Just as the Doctor's hand reached for the switch, a soft pop and a visible shift in the outline of the door made both of them leap back, eyes skirting back and forth along the narrow hallway, desperately searching for a hiding place. Then, as the door began to shift outward, Rose grabbed the Doctor by his lapels and dragged him towards the nearest niche.

He almost complained out loud, almost got out the words "How do you expect both of us to hide here?! They'd spot us at a glance!", but Rose's hand hooked around the back of his neck and dragged his face towards hers. His entire body was rigid, unmoving as his lips hovered only a hair's breadth above hers. For a long moment he was unable to think, then the first thing coming to mind was to wonder why she stopped. Rose smirked slightly and whispered, "Still madly in love, yeah?"

Her lips closed in the final distance, meeting his with an unhesitant confidence that he was sure couldn't be real. An act, all an act, he told himself as their mouths closed over one another, his body finally unfreezing. His arms fell away from his sides as they moved lower to grasp her waist, slowly nudging Rose backwards until she was trapped between the unyielding wall and his body. _All an act…_


End file.
